Five Storeys High
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: "She allows him to hold her as their chests heave up and down... The air is still heated; the sheets not quite settled; the night just about over." Ziva's thoughts as they both come down from that high.


Eek. I really wanted to update _Airport_ before the season finale (which, by the way, I am ridiculously excited for), but I had no time to go through the latest chapter and tweak it! So this is a little something I dredged up from the depths of my documents folder. Sorry it's so short, but I hope you like it anyway.  
There's nothing explicit, just implied stuff, but I thought the rating was necessary regardless. Onwards!

Disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you have to grow a bean for a biology experiment, and call it 'Tony', then call the next one 'Boss', after Tony dies. D:

Listening to: Jet Lag by Simple Plan -(it's just the song naaame)

* * *

She allows him to hold her as their chests heave up and down, keeping a constant time that seems like it will go on and on and on. The air is still heated; the sheets not quite settled; the night just about over. Their bodies are still slick with passion- from an act that has been, frankly, a long time coming.

Over the buzzing still clouding her head, and the deep, deep breaths they both keep taking, she hears something, and focuses on it.  
Somewhere in the room, a clock is ticking. A quiet little sound, like clicking fingers or snapped plastic, it beats out its noise like a drum, standing to lonely attention, wherever it is.

Her head clears somewhat, and she peels open her eyes to find the room surprisingly dark. At some point during their... activity, one of them must have hit the light switch somehow. Smirking at the ceiling, she catches a glinting object out the corner of her eye, and looks closer, only to find herself looking out the window.  
Vehicles still drive past in the familiar city below; blatantly unaware of what has just passed in a bedroom five storeys above them. A broken streetlamp is flickering uneasily, and when she blinks, it's gone altogether.

Her vision is less hazy now, and she turns back, seeing her partner- in two blissful senses of the word now, she supposes,- lying on his side, eyes trained on her face as he offers a small, tired smile. She returns the gesture, shuffling closer.  
She sticks to the sheets a little as she moves, her skin clinging to the fabric unwillingly, due to the moisture continuing to coat her. Her palm is a little clammy as she reaches out and cups his face, her thumb brushing his cheek. A small thudding noise is made as her hand falls back to the bed, bouncing slightly against the mattress, but neither of them pays attention to it.  
Their eyes are focused only on each other.

A while later- it could be five minutes; it could be fifteen, they don't care-, he reaches out and catches a lock of her hair in his hand. He twists it between his forefinger and thumb, his now-half-inquisitive gaze still locked with hers. And she finds his action so very touching, that she moves even closer and lays her head against his chest.

She feels the heat of his skin radiate through her hair, and smiles outwardly. If he notices, he says nothing of it, continuing to spin the captured curl through his hand with extreme tenderness. The smell of what seems both eons and moments ago fills her senses, and for the first time, she can feel the humidity in the air as it seemingly re-settles against any part of her exposed skin.

And then suddenly- so suddenly-, she feels exhausted, and supposes he does too, as his hand stops its movements and comes to lay over her waist, and his chest heaves without warning.  
So lifting her head, she sends him a sleep-deprived smile, presses her lips against his oh-so-briefly, and curls up against him. He slides his arms round her, and tucks her head under his chin, then promptly falls asleep.

Shaking her head minutely in disbelief, she closes her eyes and lets sleep claim her, too.  
Because the high was incredible while it lasted, but it has been replaced by bittersweet exhaustion. Now, they rest.  
And the clock will still tick and the city will live on, no one bearing witness to something that feels- that _is _- so life-changing for the two partners.

Dreaming will do for the moment, but in the morning- when the air is cool and their skin dry- they'll be five storeys high once more.

* * *

Wanna hit that button? :D


End file.
